


A Long Way Back to the Light

by MrSandman



Category: Neverwhere - All Media Types, Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Angst, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSandman/pseuds/MrSandman
Summary: The Marquis de Carabas is wrangled into an AA meeting, at the behest of Richard and Door.
Relationships: Door & Richard Mayhew, Marquis de Carabas & Door, Marquis de Carabas & Richard Mayhew
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	A Long Way Back to the Light

**Author's Note:**

> So many, _many_ moons ago (about seven years’ worth, to be precise), I was in a student-written and directed play adaptation of _Neverwhere_ at school, and after the play was finished I had all sorts of plot bunnies hopping about in my mind. This was the product of one of said bunnies (and the only one I ever acted on, in fact). I’ve barely touched it since then, but as I’m on a mission to clear out the old stuff on my hard drive, I’m doing the fic-writing equivalent of throwing it at a wall to see if it sticks, I suppose? Enjoy (I hope)! 
> 
> This was beta-ed by both cynicalRaconteur and wordonawing, though it was so long ago that they've definitely forgotten now!
> 
> Title from Recovery by Frank Turner.

"The Marquis de Carabas, at your service." 

De Carabas gave an awkward half-bow, as the circle of faces around him looked on. 

"And?" Richard pressed, standing behind him. 

"And… I _really_ must be going now, it's been a pleasure," he said, rising from his chair and sweeping his coat behind him as he retreated towards the door.   
  
Richard's hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

"But - you owe me a favour!"   
  
The Marquis threw off Richard's hand angrily, sighed, and returned to his chair.   
  
"The Marquis de Carabas," he began once more. "And… I suppose I have a certain fondness for the occasional drink."  
  
Richard nearly coughed up a lung. " _Occasional?_ "  
  
"Yes," the Marquis replied defiantly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair. Richard only rolled his eyes. "I suppose it's a little more than occasional. Regular, if you will."  
  
"Little more than regular, if you ask me," Richard muttered. De Carabas coughed lightly.   
  
"Well, perhaps they are. But there's no harm in that, is there? A little drink here and there?"  
  
"Well, take a look around you!" Richard gestured to the circle surrounding them. "That's what these people all said too!"   
  
The Marquis glanced up to the sign on the door. The words 'Alcoholics Anonymous' stared back at him, cold and unforgiving.   
  
He sighed deeply, and his eyes drifted across the faces of the alcoholics around him. None particularly stood out to him; then again, nobody ever did. Well, of course there were a _few_ exceptions. There are always exceptions to rules. But mostly, people were a uniform wall of tedium to him.   
  
De Carabas glanced away, disinterested, and returned his gaze to Richard's face, set in a mask of discontent.   
  
"Look, I can see you're not going to admit to your problems any time soon, but the only reason we're still here is because you refuse to see what's right in front of you! You've "discharged an obligation" to whoever it was in London Above. We can go home as soon as you manage to sit through one full meeting, I promise."  
  
Richard began to tap his foot on the floor, keeping pace with his racing heartbeat. "If you can't admit to your problems, you'll continue drinking yourself to an early grave, and I'm sure that neither Door nor I could cope without you! As much as I've learned in London Below…" De Carabas coughed, smirking. "I still wouldn't last a day without you, let alone be able to look after another person too," Richard continued, ignoring de Carabas.  
  
"Because, you know, Door's still young. She might be London Below's answer to Anne of Green Gables, and she only needs say she's "Lord Portico's daughter, of the House of Arch" to have every nobleman in the room kiss her feet, but that won't be much help when her protector is about as useful as a wet mop. She needs someone there to _protect_ her, and you're doing a good job of it so far. Even if you do tend to yell at each other until your voices are hoarse. You know Door would be _broken_ if you left us, and so would I."  
  
"I know many things, young man, but that fact is certainly not among them. I highly doubt that the Lady Door would care much if I died. In fact, I think she'd be _overjoyed_. One less person to fuss over, and baby, and cook for, and tuck into bed at night, just like Mummy used to." 

Richard rolled his eyes, and de Carabas scowled fiercely at the alcoholic sitting directly opposite him who fell off their chair in surprise, startled by the ferocity of his expression.   
  
Richard sighed. After all their quarrels, the Marquis had sort of become a friend of his, he thought to himself. No, not a friend exactly. The Marquis didn't really have friends. More of a… comrade of sorts. They were certainly on better terms, at least.  
  
"Look, I wouldn't have said anything, but I've found a lot of bottles around the house and they didn't come from me, and don't even _try_ to say they came from Door." De Carabas had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "It's even starting to worry _her._ "  
  
De Carabas snorted. "As if I could do anything to worry _Door._ "  
  
"She _is_ worried. Haven't you noticed how she sits with you until you fall asleep, just to keep an eye on you? We follow you everywhere, but somehow, more and more bottles appear every day." Richard still had hope, but it was dwindling.   
  
"Please. We're worried about you," Richard murmured. This was their last resort.   
  
"Oh come now, Richard. Why would you be worried about me?" De Carabas patted Richard awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'll be fine. I survived last time, didn't I?"  
  
"Well, I'm not sure having Old Bailey-" Richard coughed. "Really counts as _surviving._ Surviving implies that you managed it yourself."  
  
"Now is not the time for arguing about such trivial matters of semantics, dear man." The Marquis was looking at Richard almost… kindly. 

Richard wasn't sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, he was _supposed_ to be annoyed with the Marquis. But on the other, far more significant hand, the Marquis was never kind. Ever. It was probably just a cunning ploy, Richard told himself. The Marquis was just trying to manipulate him into leaving this damned meeting and getting back to his bottles.   
  
But the Marquis _sounded_ kind. Perhaps… perhaps, Richard dared hope, this meant that things were changing. As much as he enjoyed being insulted in any number of ways by the Marquis, he would much prefer to go several days without being told he was "delightfully ignorant", or some such colourful phrase.   
  
"No, it certainly isn't the time." Richard ran a hand tensely through his hair. "Look, would you please just give this a chance? For Door? For… for me?"   
  
De Carabas looked at Richard. _Really_ looked at him. Looked at the sad downturn of his eyes, the despair etched on his face. And for the first time in a long time, de Carabas felt something. Something other than anger, or irritation, or a cold indifference. It was almost like his frozen heart was thawing a little.   
  
De Carabas leapt to his feet and stumbled back a little, alarmed, before swiftly composing himself. He couldn't open himself up to all the heartache that emotions could bring. Not again.  
  
"I'm afraid not, Richard," he replied icily, more so than he had intended. He began to walk swiftly towards the door. "Well, it's been a pleasure, but sadly I have things to see, and people to do. Are you coming?" His last, somewhat cursory remark was addressed to Richard, who sighed heavily and started to follow him.  
  
"So much for changing his ways," Richard muttered sadly to himself. He bade goodbye to the members of Alcoholics Anonymous and trailed after the Marquis, his shoulders slumped in defeat and his eyes downcast with worry.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was partly inspired by my headcanon at the time that the Marquis became as bitter as he is after he lost his family and the love of his life in a fire, and now he won't let himself love anyone else, lest he lose them too. I did tend to batter the poor Marquis in my imagination.
> 
> I thought that I’d most likely pick this 'verse back up at some point, but I suspect that it’s now unlikely. Either way, have some minor heartbreak and unresolved de Carabas issues. Sorry!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop by and say hi on twitter (@hetheyharkness) or tumblr (kingisdead), should you so desire it. Comments, kudos etc. are very much appreciated! Have a great day :D


End file.
